


Lights, Camera, and... Action!

by Escher84



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Non-Consent, Dirty Talk?, F/M, Implied Consent, Implied Voyeurism, Mildly Dubious Consent, PWP, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn Video, Slight knifeplay, The Entity - Freeform, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Video Cameras, but naturally it's always present anyway in this hellscape, i personally don't think the tag applies but just in case, idk man it's like you expect me to know what I'm doing here or something, it doesn't make an appearance, once again i've been tricked plz send help, only this time I was tricked into posting not writing, slight exhibitionism, the making of one at least
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-08
Updated: 2020-02-08
Packaged: 2021-02-28 07:14:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22609861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Escher84/pseuds/Escher84
Summary: You wake up at some unholy time of night; it’s pitch black around you. Then, there’s aclickand a flash of light. It blinds you to the shadow that slips around the edges of your prison, sputtering and blinking back to life as you try to remember what the hell happened to you in that last trial.
Relationships: Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/Reader, Danny "Jed Olsen" Johnson | The Ghost Face/You
Comments: 11
Kudos: 201





	Lights, Camera, and... Action!

**Author's Note:**

> 😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬😬
> 
> Aight, y'all. I got challenged to write this by my friend and, being me, I was unable to back down. Doing this was a wild ride of an adventure into trying out new things in my writing. 
> 
> Writing challenge: Ghostface Smut (3k limit) with prompt: ‘You wake up at some unholy time of night, it’s pitch black. Then there’s a click and a flash of light.’

You wake up at some unholy time of night; it’s pitch black around you. Then, there’s a _click_ and a flash of light. It blinds you to the shadow that slips around the edges of your prison, sputtering and blinking back to life as you try to remember what the hell happened to you in that last trial. 

Rough metal bites into the flesh of your wrists and tugs your arms up above you, only gifted with enough slack to thrash like hooked bait. The Fog steals slowly through your mind, wrapping around your memory of what transpired to bring you here. It isolates you even from yourself, and just as the faint outlines of your surroundings begin to delineate against the dim haze of your slowly returning vision, darkness once again engulfs you. 

Silky, pitch-dark fabric is slipped over your eyes by a silent presence behind you. You cry out—desperation fueling you to finally struggle after the impending promise of sight slips through your fingers. 

And then, the shadow's touch is upon you. 

Bulky fingers card through your hair, and your stomach tenses as rough fabric snakes around your waist: the iron bar of a Killer's arm locking you in place and ending your futile attempt at escape. You startle when the soft edge of molded vinyl brushes against your ear, but the hand in your hair twists its grip to hold you immobile as well as blind. 

"Shh, shh, shh..." The whispered hushes of placation mock you as the hand begins to stroke your hair again, and you whimper into the unknown. "I love the enthusiasm, dimples, but I've taken a lot of time to plan this night out for you. Let's not skip too far ahead of things." 

You wet your lips and tamp down the ever-rising panic with a heavy swallow. If there's one thing you can say for the endless nightmares The Entity constantly puts you through, it's that you have learned how to remain calm through the gnawing terror of your new reality. And your current situation is no different: the only thing giving into it will do is magnify the horrors that await you. 

The voice is almost grainy in your ear, and you wonder if your abductor is using a voice modulator. If so, that means it has to be one of the masked Killers that has been tormenting you and the other Survivors since your arrival to the hellscape you now call home. It's only when the arm under your breasts shifts that you realize most of your clothes have been removed, leaving you in nothing but a lacy bra and underwear you don't remember being among your meager possessions. 

Brush strokes of supple leather skim along the curve of your waist and down your hip to toy with the waistband of your underwear. Cold dread washes over you in the form of goosebumps from the feather-light touch, the dark promise whispered in your ear finally registering. You weren't brought here to die; you weren't brought here to be sacrificed once more to The Entity. 

You were brought here for something else entirely.

A scream begs to rip its way out of your lungs, but thick, inky fear chokes it off in your throat. There is no one to hear you except the Entity, and it has deemed this night your Killer's prize. 

The cold press of a steel blade slips between your skin and underwear, not bothering to be careful with the serrated back when it begins tearing through the flimsy fabric. Whoever it is behind you hums a cheery tune into your ear as they methodically remove the last vestiges of cover from your form.

You force your thoughts to detach from what the killer is preparing you for, force yourself to ignore the warm trickle of blood running down the curve of your thighs from your assailant's carelessness. You force yourself to think about the facts you've been able to gather so far, in hopes that it will help you figure out how to escape.

  1. You know that the killer is using a voice modulator, which means they're wearing a mask. 
  2. You know the mask is shaped and not smooth.
  3. You know the killer likes to use a knife as their weapon.
  4. And thanks to the hard outline pressing against the upper curve of your now-bare ass, you know that the killer is a male.



That leaves you with two options, and while you've never heard any of the Killers talk before, you have a difficult time imagining the obsessively curious Shape that only grows in power the longer he stays undetected—silent and ever-watchful as he almost idly stalks Survivors through their trials—being this flippant. 

That only leaves you with one possibility: The Ghost Face.

You're dragged out from the calming detachment of deductive thought and back into reality when he decides to address you once again.

"All right!" He slaps the side of your hip, making you jerk in his hold. "We're going to be putting on a little show here in a moment—nothing too flashy, don't you worry; it'll be for private viewing only. So why don't we make sure you're not gonna be too camera shy first, sound good?"

You struggle through the mental backlash of shock and disbelief to figure out what exactly his words could mean— _was he planning on bringing in an audience?_ —when the wet warmth of a tongue begins to lap at your neck. You feel his lips stretch into a malicious grin as fear spurs on the palpitation of your lungs. 

The trailing touch of leather sets fire to your skin as Ghost Face makes his way south. The moment his fingers make contact with your clit, you nearly collapse. Every flick, every circle, every touch of his fingers is exactly what you need. It's better than you can do to yourself, and you find it difficult to hold back the quickly rising tide of your orgasm. You struggle to keep in your cries no matter how easy it is to fail with him treating you like a fine-tuned violin in a master craftsman's hands.

He gives a light peck to the newly formed hickey he has worried into your neck before shifting his grip on you. Then, you hear another _click,_ and the cold feeling of smooth plastic returns to brush mockingly against your skin. 

"Did you know," he begins, "that you Survivors are never far from us Killers?" Another flick, and another cry escapes you. "Yep! Even the safety of your precious campfire isn't what you thought it is in the Entity's realm. We can watch every. single. thing. you do."

He punctuates each revelation with a new sensation.

"We see you cry." A harsh twist to your nipple.

"We see you laugh." A pinch to your clit.

"We even see the way you play with yourselves when you think you're all alone. Or at least, I do." Another rough circle of his fingers, and your orgasm crashes through you. You shake in his hold as his relentless fingers draw more pleasure out of you, only stopping when you begin to sob. His wicked giggle echoes through the fog of lust in your brain, and you instinctively whine when he pulls away from you, left twitching as you are from the aftershocks.

You hear a rustle of fabric as he moves in front of you—all done in the name of heightening your terror, you're sure, since he's been nothing but a silent shadow before now. Your heart beats heavily in your chest in trepidation for what he has planned next. And though he had been kind enough to let you hear that he had moved to face you, he gives no such further courtesies; you jump when you feel the sudden pressure of something bulky and smooth pressing against your entrance.

"Do you wanna see what else I've learned from watching you?"

"No, no, no," you plea with the man you assume is kneeling before you. "It'll be too much like that. Please!"

A resounding silence is the only response you receive, allowing you to hear with perfect clarity as Ghost Face begins to work one thick, leather-clad finger into your pussy. You gasp out a pained cry at the intrusion. You were right: despite him getting you worked up first, despite him almost going slow to let you adjust, the digit feels entirely too much for you to take while still encased within his glove. Nevertheless, it doesn't stop the sadistic glee you can hear in his every panting breath as he begins to pump in and out of you.

Your breath comes out in sharp, shallow pants as arousal courses through you. It slicks the movements of his skilled hands, easing the way for him to rub quick circles against your clit as the questing digit curls within you and makes you whimper out in need. Each moan he pulls from you speeds up his ministrations until his fingers are fucking you at a brutal pace. 

It's too much. Too fast. You can feel the snarl of desire coiling tight within you again, whether you're ready for it or not.

"Now isn't that a pretty sight?" Ghost Face taunts. He forces your thighs farther apart, heedless of your keening whine as your hips move of their own accord to try and fuck down onto the fingers pistoning in and out of you in pursuit of prolonging the pleasure racing through you. Even with a mask and blindfold in the way, you can feel the heat of his gaze watching how he spears you open. "Should we see if you're ready for another?"

You feel the tip of a second finger tease at your entrance, and instinctively attempt to squirm away. 

"No? Aw, you wanna be nice and tight for me? How sweet." He curls his finger inside you again and you cry out at the over-stimulation. Then, it's gone, and you're left empty— _aching._

For a terrifying moment, you're left trapped in the isolation of absolute nothingness: left without sight or sound to help you anticipate what awaits you next. Then suddenly, those bulky fingers are back: spreading you wide open and allowing the thick head of Ghost Face's cock to slide home inside you. All at once, the bubble bursts, and pleasure overwhelms you in an onslaught of sensations.

It's too much in a different way now. Your still-raw nerves ignite, a searing current of electricity bringing painful pleasure with every meticulous exploitation of what he has learned from stalking you. 

He drives his cock in deeper with every relentless thrust, over and over and over. But this time, there is no relief—no break from the buzzing static building endlessly just under your skin. It's all together too much and not enough. Your thoughts are so fractured and dulled by Ghost Face's ministrations that you lose all sense of time passing. All that's left is the sweet torture of his plans for you.

The realization that he's filming this dawns on you after the fifth time he edges you into messy incoherency, and his intentions finally become clear through the haze: He wants you to ask for it, wants to capture the moment depraved desperation makes you crack and beg for him to let you cum. 

And you're too far past the breaking point to not play right into his hands.

"P-please!" 

It's all you can manage to get out. You can only hope it's enough for him to show you mercy. 

"There we go," he purrs, pulling you closer against him. "Come on, don't stop there. I can't know what you want unless you use your words and tell me." 

The false innocence of his tone does nothing to conceal his smug condescension lying underneath it. Of course he knows: he's the puppet master pulling on your every string, and he has no intention of hiding it from the camera. So you break a little more, and give him what he wants. 

"I want to cum!" you cry out. " _Please,_ I need to cum, please, let me cum. _Oh god! Pleasepleasepl—!"_ You babble out more frantic pleas. It doesn't matter what you say anymore so long as it brings deliverance from his merciless affections.

You can hear the grin in his modulated reply. _"Perfect,"_ he remarks, a greedy gasp escaping him. "Now, say ' _cheese!_ '" he cheers. It's the only warning you get before he's back to rubbing furious circles against your clit, and you're finally screaming out as your orgasm overloads what's left of your senses. 

Were you not lost in the spiral of delirium, you would hear the rapid clicking of a second camera's shutter as it captured what you were unable to see: your face a wreck, lips open and contorted in an endless scream of pleasure that mirrors the plastic expression looming right behind you as Ghost Face holds up a peace sign for the camera. But all you can hear—all you can _know_ now—is the sound of his panting moans mixing with your voice. You feel him twitch and pulse inside you as he cums, but still he never stops his ruthless pace. He just buries himself impossibly deeper inside you again and again.

"Tsk tsk tsk," Ghost Face chides, "that didn't sound even _remotely_ like 'cheese.'" He sounds breathless and half-mad, but it doesn't stop him from shifting his still-hard cock on the next thrust to press _just_ the right spot inside you one last time, tipping you over into painful orgasm. 

"Come on, smile for the camera with me, gorgeous." 

It's the last thing you hear before true darkness overtakes you once more, and you black out.

* * *

You come back to your senses on a dizzy wave of vertigo, unsure what is up or down. It takes a few moments to realize you've been released from your restraints and are lying prone on the floor, blindfold still securely in place. You move to sit up on unsteady arms when you feel the press of rough lips against your own. It's gentle in a way nothing else is in the endless nightmare of the Entity's realm—in a way nothing else has bothered coming close to since you first stepped foot here.

"Wh— you're not—" you stumble over the words once he pulls away, tongue thick and heavy from the constant screams and cries of earlier.

"Relax, dimples, the cameras are off. No prying eyes except the Entity's to see us now. Everything went according to plan." You relax into the reassurance of his confidence, tilting your head to risk one more brief kiss from your not-quite-lover. "I tried looking for some water for you, but it seems my favour only extended as far as getting us an empty realm." 

There's a purposeful rustling of fabric as Ghost Face moves away from you, and when he speaks again, it's through the distorted self-satisfaction of a Killer. "Left the hatch open next to you for when you figure out how to walk again. I'll be seeing you around, dimples." 

And then all that's left is silence.


End file.
